


A Proper Ass

by justlikeyouimagined



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, M/M, Murder Husbands, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Toys, Voyeurism I Guess, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, mostly Will puts on a show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 07:00:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16676827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikeyouimagined/pseuds/justlikeyouimagined
Summary: "A shame to get my clothes messy.” He releases Will’s hand, gently pushing him back. “Take them off, Will.”Hannibal retreats from the door frame, and settles himself into the wingback in the bedroom. Will’s brow arches at the command, though he cannot stop the smirk that liquor allows to spread so easily across his face. “You want a show, Dr. Lecter?”“Absolutely,” he says, and leans in.OR Will gets Sunday afternoon drunk and plays dress up to the delight of his murder husband.OR Just smut.





	A Proper Ass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BonesAndScales](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BonesAndScales/gifts).



> For [BonesAndScales](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BonesAndScales/pseuds/BonesAndScales) because I promised I'd finish a smut piece if they'd do the same ;)  
> Thanks to [moistdrippings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moistdrippings/pseuds/moistdrippings) for the beta.

A warm sliver of late afternoon light filters through the gauzy curtains in the apartment, striping across Hannibal’s oversized desk. Will regards the dust trapped in the beam, tracking individual spots as they dance about lazily in the warm air. His head tips back as he swallows the ends of his drink, grimacing at how quickly the ice has watered down the Couvreur.

The sound of the bottle clumsily knocking against the tumbler’s thin rim as Will refills his glass causes Hannibal to peer over his work at his partner. His eyebrow raises imperceptibly as he catalogues just how many more signs of inebriation Will has assumed since he last took a break from his manuscript. Will huffs, indignant that the whiskey shouldn't want to pour neatly into his glass, and uses the edge of his undershirt to soak up a spill. He twitches his reddened nose up slightly in frustration when he accidentally knocks one of his finished lures off the table. 

“Will...” Hannibal starts, but doesn't have it in him to feign displeasure. Over the course of their time together, he's grown fond of Will's faults, including his habit of over-serving himself with top-shelf French whiskey in an attempt to cure lazy Sunday afternoon boredom. He leans back into the worn leather chair, appreciating the sloppy, tipsy man across from him. 

“Would you care to share?” 

Will snorts in response, falling back to lounge on the chaise and sloshing another portion of the amber liquid onto his shirt and pants.

“Pfft, not after you ate the master blender I'm not.” Hannibal feels an irrepressible shiver of electricity race through him with the memory, and smiles more to himself than his companion. Will continues, “We’re not in Scotland anymore Hannibal. You've left me with a dearth of local options. I’m not wasting this on someone who only pretends to tolerate scotch.” 

As if to drive the point home, Will takes a too-big sip from his own glass. 

Hannibal's eyes sparkle with amusement as he stands to make his way over to the chaise. His hip nudges to move Will's thigh, making room for him to sit. He lightly grazes his fingers over Will's as he gently takes the tumbler, bringing it to his nose. The smell is woodsy and peaty and inextricably woven into his memories of the man beside him. He takes a small sip, appreciating the smooth flavour as it sits against his mouth. 

“And I suppose you’re savoring it, then, dear boy?” He smiles before he notices that Will's eyes are now heavily lidded, his head leaning back at an awkward angle. Hannibal places the still full glass on the nearby table, running his thumb against the tawny feathers of Will's latest lure resting there before returning to his desk and manuscript.

\--- 

When Will wakes an hour or so later, he is overly warm, damp with sweat and alcohol, and still delightfully buzzed. Rubbing his eyes, he lets out a low groan at Hannibal, who is absorbed in his research.

“God, Hannibal, would it kill you to take a break once in a while? It's not like anyone knows these papers are yours anyway.” 

Rather than reaching for the waiting glass, Will manages to unceremoniously fumble and spill the entirety of his neglected drink plainly into his lap. A few choice curses follow as he stumbles to his feet, seemingly intent on showing off the extent of his clumsiness. 

Hannibal cocks a half smile at Will at the sight of the man: light lounge pants soaked through and pressed wetly against his thighs and groin, the edge of his shirt acting as a sponge, pulling the liquid further up his torso. 

Will shivers in the midday heat. “Why’d the glasses gotta be so slippery anyway?” he grumbles, surveying himself. “Fine, you boring old man, I’ll go change and find something else to entertain myself with.”

Will tries his best to take a straight path across the room, keenly aware of Hannibal’s gaze following him. 

For the next twenty minutes, Hannibal stays put, determined not to be driven to distraction from the progressively louder and more consistent bumps coming from the direction of their bedroom. He takes a fruitless sip of his own wine, mildly surprised to find that he’s already drained it. Maybe he’s become more distracted than he’d let himself believe.

When intoxicated, Hannibal has discovered that Will has three moods: turned on, suicidal, and overly confident in his handiness. The former two he’s grown quite fond of in equal measure for their separate, curiosity-satisfying reasons. The latter, however, makes Hannibal wince as he remembers several months ago when he came home to find Will passed out, body half draped over the self-imposed cavernous hole in the wall of their spare room.

“We needed the storage space for all your Japanese trinkets, you hoarder.” He remembers Will slurring his explanation after he had roused him. He never got a firm answer on just how Will had thought the hole in the wall would accomplish the task. Two days later, he’d returned home to find the wall had been completely repaired, his Japanese trinkets placed once again neatly on their original shelves nearby. 

In the end, it isn’t the loud crashing sound that breaks Hannibal’s resolve, nor is it the ensuing string of curses that Will lets out. Instead, it’s the utter silence that shortly follows. Taking a moment to refill his glass, Hannibal at last relents and makes his way over to the bedroom in search of Will. 

Leaning against the doorframe of their walk-in closet, Hannibal’s eyes crinkle with equal parts amusement and annoyance at the sight that greets him. 

Will is crumpled on the floor, dressed head to toe in one of Hannibal’s three-piece suits - complete with handkerchief shoved into the breast pocket and paisley tie sloppily knotted in what may have been an attempted Winsdor - amidst a pile of the remainder of his everyday suits. The pole that had previously hung from the ceiling and held his bespoke apparel is amongst the detritus of the room, along with large patches of drywall where the pole had mysteriously detached. 

At first, Will doesn’t notice him. He’s staring at the small gash on his palm, a look of betrayal on his face directed at his skin having come apart so easily. His other hand is wrapped firmly around the neck of the Couvreur bottle. Hannibal’s gaze plays about the closet and finds the shattered tumblr over by wall. 

When Will does look up, a beaming smile quickly replaces his previously subdued expression. “Hannibal! Look! I’m you!”

His first attempt to stand is stumbling, but eventually he rises. In all, Will presents an impressive display of looking considerably less drunk than he must be if he’d decided that dress up was a suitable afternoon activity. 

Hannibal considers Will for a moment. Despite the closet's chaos, Hannibal cannot help return the smile. “So it would appear. Dare I ask why you’ve decided to do home repairs wearing my clothes, Will?”

Realization paints itself over the younger man’s face, and he looks around the small space as though for the first time seeing the accumulated damage. He takes another swig of the whiskey, and walks over to the doorframe where Hannibal is still leaning. 

“My clothes were wet.”

Hannibal raises his eyebrows slightly, bidding him to continue.

“I came in to change, but then remembered I needed to do laundry. I thought I’d just borrow something of yours.”

“And you chose something you’d feel comfortable in for the remainder of our Sunday evening in?” He quipps, reaching out a hand to flatten the tie adoringly against Will’s chest.

“Of course not,” Will retorts, offering the bottle up to Hannibal who courteously lifts his own glass in response. They both take a long sip, eyes upon one another. “I was going to grab some slacks, but then I remembered how the rod holding all your damn suits looked like it was going to give, so I took a few suits off to take a closer look.”

“And,” Hannibal fills in what Will leaves unsaid, “you supposed you’d just try them on?”

Will nods, though he seems to be growing increasingly disinterested in the line of questioning. Hannibal notes the way his gaze drifts away from his own, landing to rest on his lips. Hungry.

“And the clothing rod? The ceiling?” Hannibal continues, unwilling to let it go so easily, though he’d be lying if he didn’t feel a tug in his stomach when Will unconsciously swipes his tongue across his lower lip.

“I told you, it was going to give.”

“So this happened on its own?”

“What is this, a damn interrogation? Shuddup Hannibal, I’ll clean it up later.”

Hannibal takes note of how he should feel, seeing his things strewn about, his space invaded, and most of all, Will’s rude inability to admit culpability. What he does feels however, is nothing short of delight, and in the moment he relinquishes himself to the feeling, leaning in to press his lips tenderly on Will’s furrowed brow. “I always thought you looked good in a suit.”

Will smiles, lifts his head up and bites playfully at the edge of Hannibal’s jaw. “And here I was thinking you wanted me in fewer layers, not more.” 

His hand moves up to cup at Hannibal’s face, but he stops at the reminder of dark crimson still oozing slowly from the gash in his palm. Hannibal takes his hand in his own, and presses his lips directly against the wound, letting his tongue flick out to taste at the coppery sweetness. The action forces a low groan out from deep in Will’s throat.

When Hannibal removes his mouth, his lips are painted red, shining in the dim lighting of the closet. His eyes narrow, almost imperceptibly, his nostrils flare at the smell. “Perhaps you’re right. A shame to get my clothes messy.” He releases Will’s hand, gently pushing him back. “Take them off, Will.”

Hannibal retreats from the door frame, and settles himself into the wingback in the bedroom. Will’s brow arches at the command, though he cannot stop the smirk that liquor allows to spread so easily across his face. “You want a show, Dr. Lecter?”

“Absolutely,” he says, and leans in.

Will is overconfident in his first steps, misjudging his ability to move smoothly with the drink and instead smashes his shoulder soundly against the door’s frame. To his credit, Hannibal doesn’t let the amusement he feels bubble over. He watches Will carefully, eager. 

Will sets the bottle down on the dresser, and begins loosening the sloopy knot in his tie, “You keep looking at me like that, and I won’t wanna make this last.”

Hannibal shifts, a small upturn of his lip. “I would temper your expectations, Will. It would be… unethical to take advantage of you in this state.”

Will huffs, shrugging off the jacket and throwing it carelessly towards the bed. He walks the few feet towards Hannibal, and brings his legs over to straddle him. “And where didya find your ethics, all of a sudden?”

Will leans down, making to suck on Hannibal’s earlobe, but Hannibal’s firm hand upon his chest stops him short. “No, Will. After you so creatively redecorated my closet? I don’t think it’s the kind of behaviour that warrants reward.”

“Hmm, you petty asshole,” Will breathes, but doesn’t seem altogether bothered. Instead, he moves off and away, continuing to strip down.

Hannibal watches, silently for a time, and then continues his commands. “Unbutton my shirt, Will. Play with your nipples.”

Swaying and slightly unsteady, Will hums and follows along. His eyes slip shut for a moment, lost in future possibilities. He tweaks the hard nubs through the dress shirt, then twists with more insistence when the shirt is opened. “What else should I do, _mylimasis_. He smirks at the pet name, thrown back at Hannibal.

“How drunk are you, Will? Can you get yourself hard in front of me?”

Will moans, shifting to slide the shirt off and unfastening Hannibal’s borrowed slacks. He pauses, holding onto the wall to untangle himself from the fabric pooled around his ankles. “Mmm, don’t worry about me, Hannibal. I like it when you’re watching.” To emphasize the point, he rubs his half-erect cock over the fine silk briefs, also procured from Hannibal's side of the closet.

“Show me how much.” Hannibal reaches over to the bedside table, pulls open the drawer, and retrieves a vintage polaroid camera. The silver and black plastic design is strikingly anachronistic with the decadence of the rest of their home.

A fit of laughter erupts from Will. “Well, this just got interesting.” Will’s face is alight with besotted joy. He vogues jovially, then laughs again when he catches himself off balance. He makes for his whisky, downing another swig. “And how would you like me?”

At first, Hannibal doesn’t answer. Looking through the lens, he tilts his head slightly and depresses the shutter. The volume of the instant camera startles Will in the afternoon calm that had enshrouded the bedroom.

“Go get the one I like.” Hannibal’s smirk is half hidden behind the bulk of the camera. Will slips his briefs off, his cock heavy between his legs. Hannibal clicks the shutter again. The second photo buzzes out and is carefully placed upon the bedside table with the other to develop.

He licks his lips. “Which one?”

Hannibal reaches again for the dresser, tossing the glass jar of lube across the room. Will just barely manages the catch. “I’ll give you three guesses.”

He hums in appreciation before turning on his heels and retreating back to the closet. When he returns, it’s with an armful of toys. A modest sized anal hook escapes his grasp, clattering to the floor.

Hannibal shakes his head. “That wasn’t the one I was thinking of, anyway.”

With a degree of care, Will bends down to let the rest of their toys tumble in front of him. Feigning consideration, he picks up a small plug and presents it for appraisal. 

Hannibal huffs, “You’re not even trying.” He snaps a photo anyway of his lover holding the glass bauble in offering. The camera wheezes, spits out another.

Will chuckles, selects a respectable but perfectly ordinary dildo. Something flashes in his eyes, and he brings it to his lips to give it a long lick, base to tip. “You know, you might appreciate participating too.” 

Another shutter click, and Hannibal puts the camera down beside him as the latest photo peels out, slowly changing from black to spots of nude and curly brown. Will moans softly as he watches Hannibal unfasten his trousers and pull himself out, forgets his task for a moment in order appreciate the way Hannibal strokes himself gently in response. 

“You have one more chance,” he replies, eyes darting quickly over to the object in question and then back at Will.

“Over-eager?” Will laughs, reaching for the thickest toy, a rigid beast of a thing that generally comes out only after hunts, when nothing feels like enough and the two men claw, tug, fuck each other with abandon enough to ache for days. 

Hannibal watches as Will presses the suction base down firmly onto the hardwood, then redirects his attention to replace the emptied photo pack with a fresh one. A twinge in his abdomen belies his wanting, makes his cock twitch. 

“I’d say I know what I like. Stop teasing, boy,” he hisses softly. “I said: show me how much you like this.”

Will swallows, drips lube over his fingers, then turns to present himself for Hannibal’s camera. He pushes two fingers in, enthusiastically desensitized by drink. Hannibal continues to snap photos with one hand, his other stroking himself. Once, he leans forward to frame a particularly explicit shot. The room feels heated as Will pushes a third, then - delightfully too soon - a fourth finger in and fucks himself on his hand.

“You’re such a proper ass,” he hisses between heavy breathes, then steals a look over his shoulder. Hannibal’s normal repose has slipped, a slight lean to his frame, his hand working faster on his cock. Will has softened a little, his attention driven too singularly to the stretch of his ass. It is glorious.

“Enough,” Hannibal says sharply, which means _more, immediately_. Will obliges, turning himself around and positions himself over the toy. Their eyes lock. Will spreads himself, holding both cheeks as he teases his hole against the wide tip. Regardless of the prep, he finds himself wiggling slightly to take it, the strain flickering across his features as it mingles with the delicious sensation of being stretched just too much.

“ _Yes_.” It is no more than an exhale, as he sinks down onto the first few inches of the thick dildo. He stills himself there for a moment, closing his eyes against the feeling, then rocking gently to open himself up more.

Hannibal tsks. “Eyes open. Look at me while you fuck yourself.” 

Will swallows hard, presses down further, meeting Hannibal’s gaze. In time, he picks up his pace, spreading a little wider with the toy’s girth every time he squats down. “Fuck, Hannibal, talk to me.”

A shutter click again, followed by the familiar buzz of the film sliding out of the camera. Will considers the timeline of the photos, moaning and pressing down another inch before stilling again.

“You debauched plaything.” Another click, buzz. “You’d take my fist and ask for more.”

Will bottoms out, Hannibal’s name on his tongue. “You have a -” he pauses, moving against the rigid toy, “- particular way of making me crave you.”

It’s nearly impossible to stop, though Hannibal steadies his hand against his cock, pushing down and rearing back the building pressure. He stands to circle Will, who is grinding delicately inches from the wood floor.

He crouches low in front of Will so they are face to face. He can feel Will’s gaze heavy on him, but doesn’t divert his attention from Will’s flopping cock. When he holds his free hand up to Will’s mouth, he smirks when Will immediately spits into his palm. 

“Such an obedient whore,” he rewards, before wrapping his hand around Will’s half-hard length. He works his erection quickly back, though releases just as soon as he’s achieved his goal. Will whimpers quietly, bouncing more forcefully on the toy. 

“Sit down on it, deep as you like,” he mummers, then finds the camera again. When Will has pushed himself down, thighs shaking slightly at the burn of the squat, Hannibal frames the shot. When the picture develops, it’ll be only cock, and balls, and the thick stretch of Will’s asshole, swallowing the silicone dildo. He allows his finger to brush along Will’s thighs where blood from his cut has gathered and smeared. He brings the finger to his lips and allows himself a small noise. 

“Now show me what you’ve filled yourself up with,” he whispers, his idle hand returning to stroke himself, stomach tight with growing pleasure. 

Will groans in earnest now; he can’t resist rocking the toy deep inside him before reluctantly pulling off, leaving just the last inch embedded in his hole. The dildo is slick at the base where Will has pushed himself down to, the lube shining in the warm light of the bedroom. Hannibal takes in the way his hips shift, drawing the tip of the toy in _just so_ before letting it slide out again, unwilling to disobey but craving the fullness that he’s being denied.

Hannibal takes one last picture, for comparison with the last, then sets the camera down. When he meets Will’s eyes, he sees his own hungry wanton need magnified and reflected back at him. He leans in, presses his lips chastely against Will’s own, then stands.

With both hands firmly on Will’s gleaming shoulders, he pushes down, just enough to encourage his lover to give in. Will’s breath shakes out of him as he sinks down again, immediately shifts positions so he can kneel and fuck himself earnestly against the toy.

“Mmm, Hannibal. Fuck.” his eyes flicker closed, lips parting with heat burning low in his belly.

Hannibal smirks, his hand moving up to run adoringly through Will’s hair. Will, whose eyes have closed as he works himself upon the dildo, lets them flutter open, focusing ravenously at Hannibal’s cock before him. 

“Open up,” Hannibal murmurs, stroking twice and angling himself to rest on the edge of Will’s wet lips. Will makes a loud, appreciative noise before obeying, slowing his pace to steady his mouth and take in Hannibal’s length. 

Hannibal pushes in, slowly, relishing at the greedy way Will licks and sucks and groans around him. When he moves his head back, Hannibal’s hand is firm against the back of his skull, keeping him on the brink of choking on his length. Will’s eyes flash up to Hannibal’s, a spark of surprise, but then he settles, relaxing his mouth to suck and swallow around the intrusion. 

“Hold it, yes, like that boy,” Hannibal whispers, canting his hips slightly to push just a fraction more. Will shifts, his back heaving once with the effort to keep Hannibal warm and full in his mouth. With one hand, he rubs up and down Hannibal’s thigh, grasping and clawing at his ass as he approaches his edge.

Will’s noises turn tortured, a mewling whine that tells Hannibal that he’s ready to tip. His eyes don’t leave Hannibal’s - waiting, _waiting_. “Yes, Will, now.” Hannibal allows, twirling his fingers to firmly grasp at his hair. 

The vibration around Hannibal’s cock when he moans is ecstasy - he pushes fully in now, unconcerned by the weak choking noises Will makes. Will pumps his hand along his achingly hard cock several times, reopening the cut and wiping the blood along his length. With a shudder, he comes over his hand, onto the floor. Hannibal tilts his head back, presses one hand down on Will’s shoulder and smiles that possessive, satisfied smile when he feels Will move sit himself upon the dildo. Full. Completely, deliciously full. 

Hannibal growls and comes. Will chokes on it in earnest, pulling back to fill his mouth. Hannibal’s hand stays firm against his shoulder, keeping him stretched, spasming around the dildo. Then he pulls out, wiping his cock against the side of Will’s face. A thin line of spit and come glistens on Will’s cheek. 

“Divine,” he murmurs in appreciation, and his hand strokes through Will’s hair. A fine line of sweat has accumulated over his brow; Will wipes at it absently while he tries to catch his breath.

Hannibal helps Will up, more attentive of the dildo’s exit than he’d been pushing Will down on it a moment ago. He pulls him in close, their mouths melting together in earnest for the first time behind Hannibal’s short peck. Will leans into him, seeking the touch he’d been nearly denied. 

“You’re burning those photos,” Will says after a moment, his expression hazily content but his voice stern.

Hannibal holds him around the waist, smirking. “I’ll do no such thing.”

“Then expect retaliation,” Will retorts, mischief flashing behind his eyes.

“I look forward to it.”

**Author's Note:**

> In my head, for no reason whatsoever, this iteration of Hannigram is the same as in my other fic [Vibrato](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15524778), which is similarly just long-post-fall smut set in Paris.
> 
> Come say hi or whatever on [Tumblr](https://trikemily.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/trikemily) \- I'm trikemily on both.


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